Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

to Australia.”
    “Australia?”
    The policeman enjoyed her amazement. “That came before Hawaii. He was foreman of a sheep ranch. Then he moved to Sydney and opened a travel agency. He hasn’t had a bad life, I guess … all things considered.”
    “No,” said Prue, “I guess not.”
    The officer made a quick inventory of the shack’s contents. “Most of his stuff seems O.K. I guess I’d better finish my rounds. It was nice talking to you, Miss Giroux.”
    Prue was flabbergasted. “How did you know my name?”
    “C’mon,” smiled the policeman. “You’re a star. I saw you on TV once.”
    “Oh,” said Prue feebly.
    The officer mounted his horse, then leaned down and offered her his hand. “I’m Bill Rivera, by the way. Have a nice day.”
    Then the stallion and his rider were gone.
Prue stood there for a moment in mild shock.
    When the silence had engulfed her again, she reentered the shack for a final appraisal of its contents. She had come this far, she decided, so she might as well play out the drama to the end.
    The slug-smeared box lay on its side on the earthen floor. To avoid touching it, Prue poked it with her toe, but the latch was firmly secured. So she knelt beside it and prodded it with one of Luke’s pencils until the lid creaked open.
    Inside were two lumps of grayish fur.
    Two little rabbit skins.
    Behind, oblivious to this discovery, Vuitton spotted an old friend approaching through the underbrush and ran out into the fog to greet him.

Catching Up
    W HEN JON AND MRS. MADRIGAL RETURNED TO Barbary Lane, they sat on the bench on the courtyard and smoked a joint.
    “Just like old times,” said the doctor.
    The landlady gave him a drowsy smile. “Almost.”
    He smiled back, knowing what she meant.
    “His light’s still on,” she said.
    “Yeah. I see.”
    The joint was so resinous that it went out. Mrs. Madrigal relit it and handed it to Jon. “Am I pushing too much?” she asked.
    “A little,” he said.
    “Sorry.”
    “I’ll bet,” he grinned.
    She tugged his earlobe affectionately. “I want what’s best for my children.”
    A long pause, and then: “I didn’t know I was still part of the family.”
    The landlady chuckled. “Listen, dear … when you get this old lady, you get her for life.”
    “That’s good to know,” said the doctor.
    “Funny thing,” added Mrs. Madrigal, nodding towards the lighted window. “That one’s the same way.”
    Jon turned and looked at her in silence.
    “He is,” she said softly. “I’m sure of it. He just has to be reminded of it sometimes … by the people who love him. If you catch my drift.”
    “If I didn’t,” smiled Jon, “you’d rent a sound truck and broadcast it.” He rose, pecking her on the cheek. “Are you sure he doesn’t have company?”
    “I’m sure,” said the landlady.
    “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
    She shook her head, smiling. “Not one. And I’m sure you didn’t mean it that way.”
Michael stood in the doorway, dumbfounded. “Jon … my God … I didn’t even hear you ring.”
    “I didn’t. Mrs. Madrigal let me in. We just had dinner together.”
    “Oh … great.”
    “Can I come in?”
    “Sure … of course. It’s great to see you.”
    “Thanks. Same to you.”
    “Great … great.”
    “I think we’ve agreed on that,” smiled Jon. He stepped across the threshold and embraced Michael clumsily. “It’s rotten notice. I’m sorry.”
    “No problem. It’s great to see you.” Michael winced and slapped his own face. “I promise the patter will improve.”
    Jon laughed and looked around the room. “I like this color.”
    “Can I get you a drink or something? Or a Diet Pepsi? I’m out of grass, but I’m sure I could bum one off …”
    “I just did,” grinned Jon. “I’m ripped to the tits.”
    “No wonder you like this color.”
    Another laugh, more nervous than the first. “No … really.”
    “You’ll hate the bedroom,” said Michael. “I got rid of the eggplant.”
    Jon made a mock-fierce expression. “What color is it now?”
    “Crayfish.”
    “What color is that?”
    “Sort of … cream.”
    “Crayfish are cream-colored?”
    Michael laughed and pointed to a chair. “Sit down. God, where do we start?”
    “Well … I know about Mary Ann and Brian. Mrs. M. told me. She invited me to the wedding, in fact.”
    “Great.”
    “Are you sure? This isn’t exactly … my territory anymore. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,